


They Met at St Bart's

by londie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Gen, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 07:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10680423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/londie/pseuds/londie
Summary: In an alternative first meeting, Sherlock accepts the heart of an army doctor.





	They Met at St Bart's

Three spots of blood dried on the floor between Sherlock’s experiment and the door. That meant seven steps and one bandaid, before he reached the cooler air of the corridor. Then five movements of either wrist before he could get his coat on right while walking.  
Molly had told him that the new arrival couldn’t wait long; he’d have to get the heart and be out of there within the hour. Two more minutes and the creak of the door, and there was the body, stretched out cold in the mortuary. 

Softly, Sherlock pulled back the sheet from the man’s head. He took in the gore with a scientific eye. Then he covered the head again.  
With gentle efficiency, he uncovered one of the man’s hands and virtually held it, checking for powder burns… but it felt so tender, even through his plastic glove.  
Automatically, he noted the tanning above the wrist - abroad, but not sunbathing - before setting down the hand with care. How soft holding it was... ashamed heat rose to his face.  
But he had just sent out for a flatmate anyway; he wouldn't be alone for much longer. 

“Anything interesting?”  
Molly’s voice materialised too close, startling him. Suddenly, the man’s forearm seemed so interesting, he scrutinised it closely enough to hide his face.  
Her steps bustled past. Bitter stings of self-disgust started to settle in Sherlock’s throat. Despite the morgue’s chill, thinking about finding a male flatmate tended to make him a bit overheated.  
“Suicide,” he replied.  
“Oh, poor man.”  
“Yes. Army doctor. Admirable sort.”  
Finally composing himself, he stood and faced Molly. She had her back to him, hiding her work. Yet, the clatters of medical instruments indicated to him that the surgery was close at hand.  
Sherlock wanted a healthy heart for his experiment.  
“Are you ready, Sherlock?”  
But unexpectedly, his own started to deeply ache.  
There was no clear reason why. It felt almost as if he had lost something - something brilliant - but what, he couldn’t detect. 

Fifty-seven drops of blood dried between the operating table and the door. That meant six steps before tossing his surgical gloves into the bin and grabbing his coat. Twenty painful heartbeats down the corridor before he spotted Mike Stamford.  
The army doctor’s heart bounced in its container as Sherlock broke into a small jog. He could barely contain himself - had Stamford found a flatmate for him? Could he move in with someone interesting, someone lovely, someone—  
“Sorry, no one yet,” said Stamford, as he drew close.  
Sherlock's stomach dropped as fast as if he had thrown himself from a rooftop.  
“You could give that guy a try, though,” Stamford joked, gesturing feebly to the container in Sherlock’s hands. “A bloke able to live with you surely doesn't have a heart.”  
“I suppose so.”  
To Sherlock, the world suddenly felt crushing. And the epicentre of it all was gathering in his chest.  
Stamford didn’t seem to notice.  
“I’m about to get coffee at a park. Meant to go last week, but didn't feel like it.” He checked his watch. “Want to come with? We could find a flatmate for you.”  
“No,” said Sherlock, softly. “I doubt he would be there.”


End file.
